


The Humble Beginnings of Wilbur Soot’s Bestiality Kink

by witty_kitty



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bestiality, Blow Jobs, Bottom Wilbur Soot, I’m not putting it in the series, Legitimately the worst thing I’ve ever written, Other, Overstimulation, Set during Skyblock Randomizer World, Sex Pollen (kind of), but at least it’s biologically accurate (for the most part), but i question if I should use that tag at all, fucking someone until they pass out, i hate this, i really really hate this??, ive contributed to the Soot bestiality works and I hate myself for it, pillow humping, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29006382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witty_kitty/pseuds/witty_kitty
Summary: He fucks a horse.That’s it, that’s the fic.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/Frasier, Wilbur Soot/Other(s)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 204





	The Humble Beginnings of Wilbur Soot’s Bestiality Kink

**Author's Note:**

> you can feel my hate for this through the capitalized title. any typos you see are from me being drunk during writing and hungover during editing. 
> 
> i could’ve used this time to finish editing the 2nd chap of then a/b/o fic, instead these sinning hands made this. 
> 
> also yes, i know frasier is a mule now but i was under the impression he was a horse when i wrote this. just deal with it. i refuse to look at this anymore.

Wilbur shudders, burying his face into a simple decorative pillow as he humps another, much more circular one beneath him. Sweat drips down his flushed red face, and he muffles a moan into the fabric. No matter how hard he ruts into the pillow though, he can’t seem to approach an orgasm.

Fuck.

How long has he been at this? He has no idea, but he knows how it started. It had been that damned powder the Sky Gods had given him, a punishment for acting out. When it first gave him his boner, it had been kind of funny, annoying as it was. It stopped being funny when he was desperately pumping his weeping cock, oversensitive and on the edge and completely ready to cum but he just _couldn’t._

He’ll do fucking anything at this point to cum.

Frustrated tears prick, and he bites his scarred bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as his erection burns, overstimulated and yet not enough all at the same time. He finally gives up when Gubson starts clawing at the edge of his bedpost, meowing loudly for food. He can’t just let the poor thing starve, even with his... problem.

Sighing, Wilbur leans down and reaches for his mustard yellow sweater, having tossed it and the rest of his clothes haphazardly on the floor when he was first afflicted. He doesn’t bother with pants or boxers — there’s no point in modesty when he’s the only one around, but he also doesn’t want to get sunburnt, so... only sweater it is. He digs out some raw fish for Gubson out of a chest, petting him lightly as he eats.

It would’ve been nice, if he weren’t uncomfortably aware of his erection leaking precum onto his stomach under the fabric of his sweater the entire time.

It’s been a while since he’s headed out of his little cobblestone home, but everyone seems to be doing fine. Milo does little flips and spins in his lovely little tank, enjoying the new space. Jim Jam, the traitor, still hangs above the void, baaing pathetically. Wilbur makes sure to spit at him as he passes. He stops when he gets to Frasier’s temple. Through the windows, he can see the horse rutting against random objects.

Is it breeding season or something else? Well, whatever it is, Wilbur’s glad he’s not the only one suffering.

He spares a glance down at Frasier’s engorged cock, still uncomfortably aware of his own erection slapping against his stomach with every move... he’s not actually considering this, is he? But it’s been nearly a day, and clearly the Sky Gods aren’t going to give him an antidote or even some kind of toy for his affliction. It’s obvious his hands aren’t working; maybe he needs someone else.

...If he’s doing this, he’s not going in unprepared.

It takes him longer than it should to look through his chests for supplies. Every time he bends over to rummage through his things, his oversensitive cock drags on the fabric of his sweater, working him up more and more. By the time he finally finds some slime, rope, and his only regeneration potion, his legs are shaking and barely able to hold him up. He’s already stretched out, so all the slime is for Frasier. The regeneration potion, however, is for him because from what he’s seen of Frasier’s dick, tearing (or something worse) is a genuine concern.

There’s a bottle of wine in the chest too. He’d been saving it for a special occasion, but honestly? Fuck it. Wilbur uncorks the bottle and downs as much as he can in a few gulps, nearly choking at some points. He’s not doing this without being at least a little bit drunk.

He makes his way back to the temple, and there are many chances to turn back and find another way. There’s definitely time to hopefully wait it out — nothing but time, up here — but Wilbur’s sick of waiting. He’s still pretty fucking nervous, though.

Frasier doesn’t do much more than glance at him when he comes in, more focused on getting off. Swallowing his nerves, Wilbur slowly approaches, carefully and gently tying the horse’s back legs to a fence post, narrowly avoiding getting kicked throughout the slow process. His hands shake, shivers of pleasure running up and down his body at the mere thought of what he’s about to do.

When Wilbur finally finishes, he’s quick to kneel down and wrap his spit-slick hand around Frasier’s dick. A little bit of tension eases from his shoulders at the fact that he can wrap his entire hand around the thickest part of Frasier’s dick, though it quickly returns when he realizes just how _long_ Frasier’s dick is.

It’s a little shorter than his forearm with a bulbous leaking tip and a few ridges, and holy shit, that’s actually going to go in him.

“Hey Frasier,” Wilbur murmurs, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve got a problem, and I noticed that you’ve got a problem, so...” He pumps the horse’s dick once, and _now_ he can tell that he has Frasier’s complete and undivided attention. “Why don’t we help each other out?”

The horse snorts, kicking the ground and bucking into Wilbur’s fist. What they’re doing right now is fairly tame, something he’s done before in the past with other partners, but it still feels depraved just due to the nature of his partner being an animal _and_ the fact that they’re doing it in the Sky God’s place of worship.

Well, it’s a good thing he never claims to be pious or morally good anyway.

Wilbur licks his lips, staring at the twitching cock in his hands. He doesn’t have to do this — he could probably just use the slime and fuck Frasier right now, but... in for a penny, in for a pound. Uncorking and kicking back the regeneration potion, he wipes his mouth and crawls under Frasier. It’s a little bit of a tight fit — Frasier’s not a particularly large or tall horse by any means, and Wilbur, even hunched over, is still fairly tall, but he makes it work. Even with liquid courage running through his veins, the fact that he’s about to put all of that in his mouth is a bit nerve wracking.

Hesitantly, he presses a kiss to the head of his cock, using one hand to hold him in place and reaching another around to fondle Frasier’s balls. He can hear Frasier’s frustrated snorts above him as the horse desperately tries to move, but he doesn’t let him, simply licking and sucking open mouthed kisses around the shaft. He’s not looking to die an embarrassing death today.

Wilbur definitely can’t fit all of it into his mouth, but he tries his best, sucking at the first few inches at the top and slowly making his way down. He can only make it about half way before being the tip nearly hits the back of his throat, forcing him to pull back a bit and take some slow breaths through his nose. It’s also apparently what makes the last of Frasier’s already very thin patience snap, because the horse’s constant bucking manages to loosen the ropes enough to buck into Wilbur’s mouth, quick and unforgiving. “Mph!”

Drool drips out of his mouth and onto his shirt as Frasier’s uses his mouth like he’s nothing more than a fleshlight, and he’s certain the only reason he hasn’t choked yet is because he’s moved back a bit. Not that it helps, seeing as even from this distance, the horse’s dick is long enough nearly hit the back of his throat anyways. Liquid precum mixes with his spit, and he’s fairly sure he’s swallowed some, but god, he doesn’t fucking care. Wilbur lets go of Frasier’s dick to pulls and tug at his own hair, relishing in the way tears begin to prick at the edge of his eyes.

He hollows his cheeks and tries to suck as best as he can amidst the brutal fucking, but it’s hard when he can barely feel his jaw. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but it’s hardly painful; in fact, Wilbur kind of just wants to relax and just _let_ Frasier use him. His dick twitches at the thought. He’s pushed his problem to the back of his mind, but it’s still there, aching and uncomfortable.

With a wet pop, Wilbur pulls off a Frasier, his own whine drowned out by the horse’s. The poor thing continues to buck relentlessly, and admittedly, he does feel a tad bit bad in restraining the horse, so he cuts up the ropes. Frasier kicks the last of it off of his legs, and then slowly approaches Wilbur, sniffing and nudging at him from where he’s still kneeling on the floor, before raising his head up with a sort of... smile on his face? He’s not sure, but it’s probably a good thing.

He’s already prepped, and his body shakes from anticipation as he gets on his hands and knees, a shudder running through him as he feels hot puffs of air run down his back. A yelp escapes him as a wet rough tongue drags against and around his balls and taint, and he can’t help but spread his legs a bit further as Frasier continues to nuzzle and nip at his thighs.

He tenses up as the horse moves forward enough to cover him, the tip of his dick poking at his hole. “Uh, Frasier, I— _ah!_ ” A shriek tears out of him as he immediately pushes in in one forceful thrust.

Frasier doesn’t waste any time to let him adjust, starting up a rough, stuttering clip immediately, punching the breath out of him with every thrust. It’s exactly what he _needs_ though, because he cums after only a few thrusts, finally getting relief from whatever the Sky Gods did to him. Alas, as animals are, Frasier doesn’t bother pausing to wait for him to recover, still thrusting in without a care. All he can do is scramble for purchase against the mismatched flooring and take what Frasier gives him.

“F-Frasier, _fuck_ , please, please, please,” he babbles between moans. It feels like his organs are being rearranged, Frasier’s long dick spearing him through. “Oh god—“ He can barely hold himself up, the mix of pleasure and overstimulation leaving him shaky and weak. His face burns as a rush of warm cum fills him, making his own dick twitch pathetically at the sensation. If the Sky Gods hated him before, they despised him now, and Wilbur reveals in the thought.

It’s a lot more anti-climatic than he thought it would be when Frasier abruptly pulls his flagging cock out of him, but that’s fine. As short as it was, it was still _rough_ , draining him of a lot of his energy. He feels both mentally and physically exhausted, dragging himself to collapse over the crafting table. Liquid cum leaks out of him, slipping down his legs and dripping a puddle onto the temple floor, but he can’t really bring himself to care. He’s oversensitive and sleepy, damn it, he’ll deal with it later.

First, though, a nap—

“Ah!” He jolts as a hot puff of air suddenly brushed against his sensitive lower half, instinctively but fruitlessly trying to move away from the feeling. A wet tongue once again laps at him, licking up the cum and sweat. “Frasier, th-that’s enough— Frasier!” The horse doesn’t care, nudging against the back of his legs, forcefully spreading them. Wilbur kicks lightly at him, trying to move away, but Frasier drags him back with a rough tug on his sweater.

There’s no way he could’ve gotten hard that quickly, but there’s something hard poking at his backside as Frasier repositions himself, starting another relentless pace with no regard for Wilbur.

He can’t do anything as the horse starts another harsh, forceful clip, long dick beating at his insides with every thrust. It‘s all pain, even with the alcohol thrumming through his veins, overstimulation having long since set in, the long shaft rubbing his walls raw. Frasier fucks his cum back inside Wilbur, shoving it deeper and deeper inside to the point that he can practically feel it come up in his mouth. Maybe that’s just drool. He doesn’t know anymore.

“Stop, don’t, I _can’t,_ Frasier,” Wilbur gasps out, barely swallowing back a sob as the long dick brushes against his prostate, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto the table. Shamefully, his cock is starting to get hard again, brushing against the crafting table with every rock of Frasier’s hips. “Slow down, please, please, slow down—“

He’s not sure if the horse understands him or not, but thankfully he does slow down some, grinding his balls against the his ass as he continues to thrust out shallowly. He feels so _full_ and helpless like this, limp and completely at Frasier’s mercy — it’s painful and hot all at the same time. It’s really no wonder that he cums again against the table, a sad pitiful spurt that borders on a dry orgasm.

Frasier shifts as his walls tighten around him, starting up a faster clip that pushes against the bundle of nerves, forcing a howl out of him, as hoarse and wrecked as his throat is. All higher level thinking has completely deserted him at this point, only the rough drag of Frasier’s warm cock against his cum slick walls. Wilbur can only moan and cling to the table as he’s fucked into it, dizzy and dazed and barely able to breathe.

Everything feels too bright and slow, black spots dancing in the edge of his vision. Time seems to stutter with every thrust, lagging around him as his eyelids get heavier and heavier. It should be worrying, he thinks dimly, but instead all he can feel is a calm serenity.

He continues to feel it even after he loses track of time and eventually, _conciousness_.

* * *

Wilbur wakes up sore and aching, a throbbing headache thrumming in the base of his skull. He’s collapsed over a crafting table, and it feels like he’s downed ten weakness potions and then got into a fist fight with a charged creeper. To be frank, he feels _awful_. The fact that he’s pantless doesn’t help either, the cold air against his barely functioning legs making him shiver.

He sweeps his eyes around the room, recognizing it as the temple. Cold liquid trails down his legs as he moves. Fuck, what even happened? His throat burns, just as sore as the rest of him, and he absentmindedly reaches up to rub it. As he does, his eyes land on Frasier’s sleeping form. There’s a puddle of— oh.

_Oh._

Right. That’s what happened.

The tips of his ears burn, and Wilbur buries his face into his hands. He’s definitely taking this to the grave. Nobody’s going to know about this for as long as he’s alive.

Besides, _this_ — fucking an animal — is definitely a one time thing that definitely won’t happen again.

He’s sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> i have about ten pages in my google docs about how horses fuck, their dick sizes, etc. that i don’t remember writing. 
> 
> did you know wild stallions have been recorded to fuck three times and cum twice in seven minutes? they also cum about half a cup of semen every time. smaller dicks on stallions are usually 10+ inches. the human anus can fit a little bit more than that. somehow this is scientifically accurate. 
> 
> please shoot me.


End file.
